they complain about mismatched
plastic covers, they don’t see
dirty dishes and “forget” to put
away the leftovers; they dance around
the kitchen in their boxer shorts brushing
their teeth after having squeezed the last bit
of toothpaste from the middle of the tube,
the top spinning on the floor covered
with dog hair, what else;
once in bed, they pull your finger, fart under
the covers, roll over, pulling all the covers
away from you and drift off into that
deep sleep of contentment.
what a wonderful life.
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